Destiny’s Gift
by Shadow Padawan
Summary: Usually it’s about money. Usually it’s about what’s good for him or his family. So how come he is now ready to sacrifice everything for a child he barely knows? OCs.
1. Part One

The mid-way space port between Avada and Torren was a small, grimy place with only ten launch pads, contrasting miserably to the usual hundred of even a small-level port, located on-orbit of Mira-Day, a beautiful but poor Mid-Rim world. This port was usually used for cheep-fare transfers from the Mid-Rim to the Outer-Rim. Most ships departing from said port were cargo ships, with the exception of those docking on the two pads in a cut off section, molded and shaped to fit nothing larger than a fighter. These pads were usually booked ahead of time by wealthy customers, most of them pirates, slavers, or shady businessmen, usually in the dealing field, who arrived in their small, agile, silent ships in order to make an unseen transfer. They would come and leave within an hour, having settled their business in one of the back rooms. The next thing the HoloNet would report would be the coordinated attack of a passenger ship, or the kidnapping of a child from a wealthy family by suspected slavers. This was a new trend: kidnapping children from aristocratic families not for ransom but to be sold into the "pleasure" field of slavery.

The waiting areas teemed with passengers who would later be crammed into small rooms, usually four people per room – a couple per room was rare and private rooms were usually too expensive for anyone traveling in this manner – and shipped off to whatever their next destination was. It was no secret that the few private rooms that did exist on board these ships were usually occupied by slavers; their slaves stored below in the cargo hold where they would be counted as another bag carried on board rather than a passenger. They were harder to trace for authorities this way.

The thirteen year old boy crowding in line for a transport with the rest of the dirty, odorous, cursing beings was a strange sight. He stood as though isolated from the on-going chaos with his traveling bag hanging over his shoulder, dressed in a tightly fitted black jacket – it was well kept but somewhat worn, mostly noticeable by the faded color of once-shiny silver buttons – blue denim pants, also somewhat worn, and long necked boots which were new but cheep. He was clutching his ticket and identification documents in one hand and holding a newspaper in the other. He scanned the headlines: murder, assassination attempt, peace conference, sports' latest, kidnapping... The boy's eyes stopped on the kidnapping headline and he was about to start reading but was interrupted by a shrill voice calling for the next batch of passengers to come through the tourniquets into the boarding area. The boy rolled up the newspaper and stuffed it into his bag.

"Ticket and identifications documents," the large oaf of a Fuatt, a close cousin of the Tatooine Hutts, demanded, eyeing the thirteen-year-old with a predatory kind of suspicion and contempt.

"Fedia Dmitriov. Destination: Torren. Traveling privately," the boy intoned flatly but not without a defiant self-assurance glinting in icy blue eyes.

The Fuatt looked over the documents with a cursory, disinterested glance – no one in this port cared much about forgeries or "borrowed" papers – and looked up sharply when he heard that the boy was traveling "privately." A sickeningly sugary smile pasted itself on the Fuatt's face. "Will there be _cargo_, young gentleman?"

Fedia grimaced at the implication. "No."

"Very well. Enjoy your trip, Mr. Dmitriov. "

Fedia snatched back the torn off stump of his ticket and his identification papers and headed toward the ramp in a huff. _Kriffers_, he thought with venom unusual for a boy of so few years. _They hear I have a room all to myself and they instantly think of human goods. Vile brats. I'd almost rather take a normal shuttle…if it wasn't for the cost…oh, damn it all!_

At least he was going home. Back to his mother. Back to his sister. After all these months! He merely hoped Gale hadn't gotten much worse; his mother wouldn't speak of her illness to him much while he was away. But now it would be alright. Now he had actual money. In gold too.

Fedia's gambling and card talents had taken him across the galaxy from his current word of residence – Elnore – to Solsages, known as the gambling capitol of the Outer Rim. Coming straight across the galaxy through Coruscant would have been the fasted way of getting home and the easiest at that. However, Fedia knew that Inner-Rim transport prices were ridiculously high, especially with anything that went through the Core Worlds. He had the money for it now but he wanted to save it. For Gale. Force knew they didn't have much money back home. So he took the longer, more demanding trip around the Outer Rim. From Solsages he took the shuttle to Marabeth and then another transport that took him to the mid-way port between Avada and Torren. Here he left the transport which was continuing on to Naboo and took the transport to Torren. From there he would only be a parsec ftom home and would take a regular passenger transport, given that the fare hadn't come up in price since he last looked. It was all thought out and as cheep as he could make it without the trip being unreasonably unbearable. He _was_ of a good family after all. Two things Fedia hated the most: a lack of privacy and being considered by anyone as third class. There he drew the line.

His mother hated it that he had taken to gambling and cards. She said he went after his father who was the reason for their financial woes, according to his mother. But Fedia knew – was convinced – that his father had been an honorable man. A man who died defending his honor and his family's honor. Fedia remembered very little of the circumstances surrounding his father's death. It had been several years ago and he had been very young. He knew his father died in a duel with a snobbish aristocrat but even that snip of information he had gotten from what he was able to overhear from the conversations of grownups while standing outside the kitchen or parlor door. His mother gave him little explanation of his father's death; she merely said it was his "choice of entertainment and friends" that led to the tragedy. Fedia knew that there were things that his mother wasn't telling him and as long as she clammed up he wouldn't abandon the only way he saw to help his family – cards, gambling, and all that wild poodoo.

Fedia would have headed for his quarters but he hadn't eaten since that morning and he decided to head down for something to eat. The ship food, thought it tasted like plastic most of the time, would most likely be safer than the suspicious looking meat sandwiches they sold at the port bar. The ship was made of four levels. The top two levels were for passenger quarters with the smaller, more private, rooms on the top floor. The second level was used for the cafeteria, bar, escape pods, a small hanger bay, and one of the four large cargo holds on the ship. The lowest level held the cargo holds, engine power cores, and food and supplies storages. Fedia took no notice of the people passing him, took no notice of the excitement that seemed to penetrate the air, as at all departures. The shop cafeteria had not opened yet and that fact only sharpened Fedia's overall annoyance. He was sick of the Outer Rim. Sick of the sordidness of life here. Even Elnore – though rich in nature and soft spoken in customs – has that taint of a lawless, dishonorable environment. Staying at Solsages bad proven to him once and for all how harsh the galaxy was. You couldn't get anything in this life through honestly, loyalty, honor. The only thing that mattered was power and money. Mainly money because one with money would always have power. Attaining money was best done by the most sordid means, of course: lies, betrayal, depravity. A man with little means has only two choices in life: live by a code of goodwill and be trampled or throw moral to the wind and rise above them all. Maybe the rich could afford sentimentalities and to indulge in the game of wrong and right. The rest would have to decide how low was too low.

All this frustrated Fedia to the most. He wasn't dishonorable by nature but the driving need to support his mother and sister, to achieve something in life, pushed him beyond morality from time to time. He knew what he wanted and he would stop at nothing to get it. Solsages had completed his immersion into the world of the Outer Rim that he hated so much. He had gambled, he had played cards, he had dueled, he had settled deals in back rooms. He had lied, calculated, cheated, betrayed allies… But in the end his reward was money. The money that he needed for Gale.

Gale. His dear, loving sister. He would sell his soul for her. In a way, he already had.

The corridor leading up to the repulsor lift that would take him up to the fourth floor was crowded due to a hold up that had occurred at the cargo ramp. Fedia pushed through the crowed of gawking spectators to see what the commotion was all about. The stairwell leading to the bottom floor was filling with the ships live cargo as they were escorted from the cargo ramp down to the holds by a convoy of guards. There were not a lot of passengers on this level as the boarding ramp led to the third level and most beings were busy settling in their rooms, but the few people that had come down for one reason or another to the second level stood gapping at the procession of human positions. Most came meekly, their heads down and eyes staring blankly at the floor. There was a young boy among them, though, who seemed to be causing the hold up. He was crying and protesting, shouting something in Francian in between sobs and attempts to wrench himself out of the guards grasp. Fedia new a good amount of Francian yet the boy's words were so slurred that Fedia couldn't quite make out what he was saying. _He obviously hasn't realized yet how useless it is for him to protest,_ went through Fedia's mind as he watched the boy fall to the ground as one of the guards struck him across the face.

As soon as the thought came, an intense anger filled him. How could all these no-good, scummy, idiots stand here and watch this? It was one thing to not do anything about it if nothing could be done but to watch this? And with such interest? His anger spiraled as the unspoken protests gushed from his heart only to be clamped down on once they reached his throat. His hatred spread then not only to the spectators but to the child as well. _Why must the damn kid make a scene? Doesn't he realize it's useless!_

Finally, Fedia's patience exploded. "What are you all staring at you…" No appropriate word in Basic came to his mind so he settled for a Rushanian insult instead. "You rezyebai chortavi!"

The small crowd turned on him with an ominous hum but Fedia didn't care for a fight. He elbowed his way through the remainder of the crowd and marched past the cargo ramp where the guards were restraining the still struggling boy and toward the lift. As he passed, the boy tried to grab Fedia's sleeve, but Fedia shook him off, dumping the sobbing child to the ground and marching off.

No, there was no justice in the galaxy. No decency ether. But what concern was that of his?

_How old was that kid? Eight? Seven maybe?_ Fedia shook his head. He had more important, more personal things to think about than some random kid. He couldn't possibly save all the slave children of the galaxy. Force knew there were hundreds of them on Torren and Tatooine alone. That one kid didn't matter in the scope of things. His family – that mattered. A trusted friend or two – that mattered to an extent. This kid? _No, no_, Fedia thought to himself, shutting his eyes briefly, _I won't think about it. I'd go crazy if I started thinking about everything like this that I came across. I won't worry about it._

And for the time being – he didn't.


	2. Part Two

Fedia drifted in a pleasant state of drowsiness, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, where everything was soft, warm, and comforting. He had dreamed of home, of the sun, of being _happy_. Wakefulness was blissfully slow to come, allowing him time to linger in the dream, to salvage the imaginary warmth of a phantom sun against his face, to soak up what last bits of comforting slumber remained.

The sudden beeping of his comlink had Fedia instinctively reaching for the blaster under his pillow before his groggy mind identified the sound for what it was. Cursing softly under his breathe, he reached over and hit the reception button. A blue-tinted, scaled hologram of his mother unfolded before his eyes.

"Mama…" Fedia breathed in surprise. He had asked her not to comm him while he was away. He sent her encrypted holo messages through a roundabout HoloNet network once a month to tell her how he was doing. She, in turn, would send a short encrypted message back to him, using the instructions he had left her before leaving, informing him of how things were at home.

"Fedia, darling, don't be mad, but I knew that you were already on your way back—"

"Mama, there are reasons as for why I asked you not to comm me. Money, yes – don't roll your eyes at me, Ma! – but also security."

The middle-aged woman – plainly dressed, her brown hair in a loose bun – watched her son with sad eyes that shone with adoration and a yearning to see him safe home again. "I couldn't wait any longer, Fedia, I simply could not."

"Oh, Mama, we've spoken about this. I am the man in this family, am I not? Now, can we drop this nonsense? Tell me how you are. How is Gale? May I speak with her?" Fedia's heart jumped at the opportunity. After all this time he longed to see his sister, to make sure her cheeks were still rosy and her eyes were still bright.

"Ah, thinking of your sister. Force bless…" Anna Dmitriov smiled faintly, one hand unconsciously laid over her heart. "Yes, you may speak with her. Gale! Gale, come, your brother is on the comm."

From out of sight a young girl's voice cried out in exuberant excitement. :"Fedia!" There was a sound of small feet pattering over a wooden floor and a little girl came into sight as she jumped into her mother's arms. "Fedia!" Gale waved happily at her brother and he grinned back at her. The girl had brownish-blonde hair and large, velvety green-brown eyes that had a wisdom in them far beyond the child's years. Her hair was braided into a long, thin braid which lay over her shoulder. She was gaunt and pale with only a faint, ghostly blush in her cheeks. But – Fedia noticed with relief – despite the reflection of her day to day struggles with her illness, her eyes were bright and eager.

"Hey, kid. I missed your eight birthday. I'm sorry. I'll make sure to buy you a big present for your ninth. Ok?"

Gale giggle happily. Then, suddenly, she grew quiet and pensive.

"What's wrong?" Fedia asked in genuine alarm, searching his sister's face for any sign of pain.

"Are you coming home?"

The question somehow surprised him. "Of course I'm coming home, Gale. I'll be home in a couple of weeks. Maybe we'll even go to the zoo; would you like that? You can see all the big banthas, remember?"

Gale nodded but her expression didn't change or brighten much. She fiddled with the frills on her dress sleeves for a few moments before raising a hand to her mouth and holding one small fist against her lips. It was a nervous gesture from childhood that she never got rid of. "I miss you," Gale whispered so softly that Fedia almost couldn't hear her.

Fedia could take a lot but he couldn't take that childishly sad, innocent, almost frightened look on his little sister's face. "I miss you too, Gale… but I'll…I'll—" Fedia cut himself off, feeling the lump in his throat grow and the sharp sting of tears begin to irritate his eyes. He wiped a hand across his eyes and swallowed several times to try to regain control of his voice. "I'll be back soon, little one. Now come, give me a smile." Fedia could hear the rawness in his own voice and silently scolded himself for not being able to control the tide of emotions sweeping over him.

Gale dropped her hand from her mouth and attempted to smile for him. It was a small, tentative smile that grew with every instant until it was an ear-to-ear grin.

Fedia couldn't help but laugh with the sheer happiness of seeing her smile after all this time.

"Go on, Gale," Anna said, finally. "These kinds of conversations are costly."

The child nodded and jumped from her mother's arms and out of sight. Anna turned back to her son.

A hint of a smile still lingered on Fedia's face. "She looks good."

Anna nodded a little. "Yes. The medics say there have been no set backs, thank the Force."

"I was… I was almost afraid that she wouldn't remember me. It's been so long. She's so young." Fedia shrugged.

"Oh, no, no. She remembers you and misses you too. Every day."

Fedia nodded, unsure as to what to say. Anna broke their momentary silence. "Fedia, darling, I don't dare speak to you of money—"

"Mother, please!" Fedia cut her off, almost in a panic. "I don't wish to speak of it here. But rest assured that I've not come home empty handed." He smiled to make his words seem even more convincing. "We'll be fine one day, Ma," he promised softly, noticing the pinched look on his mother's face. A look that indicated that she was close to tears. "I'll make sure of it. Just wait until I finish school—"

"Oh! You have a whole year to catch up on!"

"Mama, please don't worry. I'm smarted then all of them. I know I am."

"Hush, don't let your pride blind you."

Fedia's eyes flashed at the reprimand but he did not want an argument at the moment. "It's only the truth. I must go, Mama. Please don't comm me again. If we've waited a whole year, a little over two weeks should be nothing at all. See? I can be an optimist."

Anna smiled and shook her head in some form of disbelief. "Sometimes I forget that you're only thirteen. But when I remember my heart breaks all over again and again. Why have you taken this load onto yourself?"

Fedia sighed. He wished his mother would stop her fussing and simply accept the fact that unlike most people he was determined to find a way out of their unpleasant situation. His dreams of grandeur were not just pleasant thoughts meant to amuse him during dull classes but actual goals to be reached, heights and peeks to be concurred. "Mother, I am the man in this family, I love you and I love Gale. You both matter the most to me and I will take care of you both. Someday…someday everything will be much easier. For right now I do what I can. Why talk of it?"

Anna shook her head again. "I just wish…I see it is pointless. You are resolute. Well then, goodbye, me dear son. I will be at the port to greet you."

"I love you, Mama." The connection cut and the hologram flickered off. Fedia sat on his bunk, staring blankly at the peeling yellow wallpaper on the wall opposite him. Speaking with his mother and sister bad unnerved him somehow. He felt dizzily happy and angry and upset at the same time. It wasn't an anger at his family but rather a general anger at the galaxy, at life, at fate.

"I'm pathetic," Fedia muttered to himself. He got up, dressed, holstered his blaster under his jacket, grabbed his wallet – tucking it into an inside pocket of his jacket – and a pack of cards. He rubbed his eyes to get the last bit of sleep out of them and headed down to the ship's small bar in hopes of a drink and a nice game of cards.

* * *

Fedia peered over the top of his cards; bright, searching, blue eyes scanned the cards laid out on the table, the stacks of credits, and the faces of his three opponents. One was a young bothan with groomed, well brushed out fur that swirled and bristled as he struggled to concentrate on the game but seemed to find his attention turned to the holographic screen above the bar where three strippers were coming to the climatic elements of their performance. Across from Fedia sat a young man of about nineteen years standard who looked to be a strange mix of human and bele-bhfouan. He could almost pass for human if it weren't for his bright orange eyes, sticking-out, large ears, and blue-tinted skin. Across from the bothan sat a human young man whose age could be as well sixteen years standard as it could be twenty five. He had a thin, pale face and gangly, uncoordinated limbs. His lips moved in jerky gestures as he fingered his cards and his green eyes met Fedia's with a teasing impudence/ Fedia knew the look and refused to loose his nerve. He disliked the fellow already yet didn't know why this Telk – he had introduced himself as Telk Bruceg – should be of any importance to him one way or another.

"So, gentlemen? Will anyone care to raise the bet?" Telk looked to the bothan. "Isele, you're a dirty…. Anyways, stop watching the little sluts and start playing."

The strippers on the holoscreen had finally reached the climax and Isele's fur swirled and bristled as he howled softly, his body twitching rhythmically.

Telk made a disgusted face. "Pervert. I say he folds. Marven?"

Marven looked at his cards, his large orange eyes blinked slowly. "I think I fold." Marven threw down his cards and downed the shot glass in front of him.

Telk snorted and looked to Fedia. Fedia's blue eyes met Telk's green ones with a cold, laughing, self-confidence.

"I set my boundaries at one thousand credits a bet. Let's play it as it is."

Telk smirked. "Smart man." He laid out his cards. A fare hand it was and Telk didn't think Fedia could beat it.

Feida looked at the cards on the table, then the one's in his hand, and began to cover each card with one of his own that had more worth. After he finished, he gathered up the money and stuck it in his wallet, not paying any attention to Telk's shocked face.

Fedia stood as though to leave but Telk, paler than he had been, grabbed his arm. "Play some more with us, won't you, Mr. Dmitriov?"

"I've bet my fare share for the day."

"Oh, money isn't the only thing we can play for. How about a dare to play for?"

"I'll take any dare without losing a hand of cards," Fedia replied calmly. He didn't wish to be baited but he wasn't about to let anyone, especially this Telk, think that he worried about whatever dare they may come up with for him.

Telk wrinkled his nose. "That's no fun."

"Then if you would excuse me—"

"Are you really leaving, then?"

"Yes."

"Then I don't suppose you would mind taking the request for your winner's duties now would you?"

Fedia groaned inwardly. This was one of those card games that came with winner's dues attached. It was a watered down version of sabac. A stupider version, Fedia thought, but it was probably that very quality that made it so very addicting. Some of these most addicting games had so called winner's dues attached – a condition on which the winner had to fulfill a small request for all who had lost out that night to make sure there was at least some solace to those who may have lost their whole fortunes at cards in a single night.

"I suppose. Mar—"

"Don't bother them; drinks will do for those two stripper-addicts." Telk nodded at their two companions who were now engrossed in watching the holoscreen.

"Would you be so kind as to buy them?" Fedia took out three gold coins and flung them on the table.

Telk nodded. "As for me though… I saw a girl brought into the slave cargos when we left port. She's twenty years standard at best, most likely less. Very charming. Long brown hair, golden paint all over her cheeks. A humanoid of the Hekivo race. She's a lovely creature, I would love to have her for myself. Would you mind going down to the cargos and taking some holopics of her for me? A most delicious body that one has."

Fedia found the idea revolting. "I'm afraid that is beyond me as the codes to the cargos are only given to the masters."

"Do you take me for a fool?" Telk laughed. "They will give the codes to anyone who is traveling privately. You are traveling privately, from what I know." Telk's eyes glinted and Fedia felt highly uncomfortable at that moment, when the artificial, sickly light of the grungy ship illuminated Telk's face from only one side and his eyes peered out of the shadows like small, glowing gemstones. Fedia had not told anyone that he was traveling privately and he could only guess by what means Telk knew of this.

"She's in cargo storage three – I saw where they placed her – with a few others but you should be able to distinguish her easily, I think. Here, use my holocam for the holos. Return it to room thirty-two."

Fedia's eyes narrowed as he regarded Telk with new-found distrust and disgust. He snatched the holocam and making a small – almost indecent and disrespectful in its briefness and lack of dip – bow, said through his teeth. "I will have everything done and to you by tomorrow." Fedia turned sharply on his heal and left the bar. He thought about going back to his room but decided it would be better to get this unpleasant duty out of the way first.

Fedia headed for the cargo holds.


	3. Part Three

The codes were easy enough to obtain and Fedia soon found himself in front of cargo hold three punching in the sequence. The heave metal door slid open and the large, dark mouth of the hold yawned before him. Fedia shivered at the lack of warmth in the space. The main ship was heated and isolated well but the cargo holds were meant for inanimate objects and the cold seeped in - the heating units on the ceiling a sad, rusty, breaking-down excuse for a heating system. On one side, luggage - bags, suitcases, etc - were stacked in high columns and long rows. On the other were several stalls, each stall separated from the other by a high, almost ceiling-high divider. These were usually used for the "live cargo." The slaves would be changed to the wall, usually one per stall with rare, custom exceptions. The dividers were there as an attempt to diminish contact between the slaves. Fedia slid the door shut behind him and snapped on the flickering ceiling lighting. There was just barely enough light to see.

Fedia pulled his jacket closer around him and started down the row of stalls. Most were empty but some had slaves. Fedia tried not to look but a genuine curiosity overpowered him and made him throw glances at the people who were chained against the wall. In one of the stalls there was a woman sitting on the floor with a baby in her arms.

_The child will die in this cold! How do woman of their lot even dare to have children?_ Fedia thought with a cold, bitter anger festering just beneath the surface.

Fedia thought he had seen it all until he passed the one stall that made him stop. A young boy - a child of seven or eight - lay curled up on the floor in a single silk shirt which was torn in a few places, and dark pants. His shoes were gone though somehow, for some odd reason, he had managed to retain his socks. The boy was trembling and shivering, dark strands of hair fell over half-closed eyes. Blood trickled from a gash on his temple. Fedia recognized him as the child he had seen brought in before the departure - the one making all the noise. Fedia had at first thought that maybe the boy had been sold separately from his mother at auction but he had been putting up too much of a fight for someone use to slave life and the clothes... Those weren't the clothes of a slave boy, especially whose master was so desperately poor that he had to sell his slaves at auction unconditionally.

The boy must have felt Fedia's gaze on him because he looked up with frightened eyes, red from crying. The child lifted a hand to his forehead to brush away a strand of hair that was tickling his nose and it came away splotched with bright-red blood.

_Dear Force! Hasn't his master seen this? Hell, he probably doesn't even care the jack- Agh! Who buys a kid anyways?_

Fedia took several slow steps forward. The child only whimpered and curled in on himself even more. Fedia came to his side and knelt down next to him. "Hey, hey, it's ok, I'm not gonna hurt you." He reached out to the child but the boy flinched away and only peered at Fedia from under long strands of hair with large, frightened eyes. The boy reminded Fedia of a wild animal that hid in a bush and peered out with its glowing, watchful eyes but never dared to venture too close, its instincts telling it that hiding would be a much safer thing to do. Fedia had to admit to having a weakness for children, especially hurt or sick children. As all weaknesses, he shoved it aside, buried it, pretended it didn't exist, replaced it with harshness and - or - apathy. However, something about this child, something about his dark, mournful eyes, about the way he peered out in that frightened way... Fedia felt inexplicably drawn to him. "I'm Fedia. What's your name?"

The boy didn't answer and when Fedia tried to brush back a strand of his hair the boy flinched away from his touch.

Fedia bit down on his frustration. The kid needed to be cleaned up at the very least. "Don't be scared. I'm not gonna hurt you. Do you speak Basic?"

No answer. Fedia asked the same in Francian. Still no answer, just fearful eyes watching his every move. Fedia threw an arm up to run a hand through his hair - a frustrated gesture that he had copied from his father and retained from childhood - and the boy squeezed his eyes shut. _Force! He thought I was gonna hit him..._ Stunned by the thought, Fedia froze, his arm still in the air, contemplating it. The child half opened his eyes and seeing that the "danger" was not quite passed, let out a soft whimper.

"My name's Anatole. I speak both Basic and Francian. Please...don't..." The boy - Anatole - put up a hand to shield his face.

Fedia sighed in a sort of relief. He hated it that it was fear that got the boy talking but it wasn't like he was going to see the kid again... "Anatole, I'm not gonna hurt you. You're hurt, won't you let me help?"

Anatole put down his hand and looked up at Fedia with wide, almost disbelieving eyes. "Ok," he finally decided in a horse whisper.

Fedia scooted up against the wall and pulled Anatole up so that the boy's head rested against his chest. Anatole was chained to the wall by only one ankle but the chain was of heavy metal and the ringlet around his ankle was tight. Fedia reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a bacta bottle and several bacta patches. Street fights were common in Solsages - usually caused by overenthusiastic, drunken gamblers who felt they were being cheated - so Fedia had developed a habit of carrying at least the most basic medical supplied with him. _I just wish I had water and a stronger disinfectant. After all, bacta acts more like an antibiotic than a disinfectant... Dear Force, it won't stop bleeding. I understand beating up someone your own size or close to it...but a kid? This isn't your regulation spank on the butt this is like...child abuse or something! The again, why the hell am I surprised?_ Fedia simply could not understand how someone could seriously hard a child on purpose and feel no regret for it whatsoever. He heard plenty of rumors and stories about slavery and its evils. But coming into contact with it, and like this, had given him a fairly big shock. Fedia pressed the bacta-socked patch to Anatole's temple with one hand and tried to wipe the blood off of his face with another patch. Gradually the bleeding slowed and almost stopped and the blood was practically gone from his face.

Anatole was looking up at the older boy with his wide, beautiful eyes that expressed a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. Also, Fedia noticed, a bit of hope began to shine through as the tears dried. "Thanks," he murmured, trying to smile but failing for the most part.

"Yea...I wish I could bandage this up for you. But, for one, I don't have a full medpack with me and secondly... If your master sees that you were helped he may get mad and hurt you more. No one must know that I was with you. Understand."

Anatole nodded, biting his lip.

"Is your master the one who did this to you?"

"The guards cut my temple."

"Did your master hurt you at all?" Fedia pressed on in hopes that the answer would be "no."

"He kicked me," Anatole replied in a pained half whisper with a childishly emphatic nod. He wrapped his arms around himself to try in a hundredth in vane attempt to ward off the cold.

"Cold?" Fedia asked softly even though it was obvious that the boy was freezing.

"Really cold."

Fedia bit his lip. He had no wish to be cold ether but since he was in a mood, it seemed, for good deeds he might as well go all the way. Fedia took off his jacket and wrapped it around Anatole's small frame. "Better?"

Anatole didn't answer and instead nuzzled against Fedia, turning a little on his side, looking to be held and cradled. Fedia obliged, one arm wrapped around Anatole, the other holding the bacta patch against boy's temple. There was sych childish trust in that small shift of position that Fedia almost smiled.

"Anatole, have you...seen your master?"

"Yes. At least I think it was him."

"What did he look like?" _Let's see if I can find him and rip a little something off..._

"I...I don't remember. It was dark. I was scared. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't..."

"Shhh." A soft smiled tugged at the corners of Fedia's mouth. "It's not that important. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Anatole returned to his previous nuzzling position, letting out a soft sight of relief.

"Have you been out of this hold yet, kid?"

"One. The guards took us for a 'refresher break'."

"Mmm, I see. Oh, and it's 'once' in this case."

"Ok."

This time Fedia really did smile. Fedia closed his eyes and let his surroundings fade away. In his mind, the cold melted into warmth, the hard floor became a soft couch, the sickly light of the glowpanals transformed into the soft afterglow of a sunset, and the dank, moist smell of the cargo hold swirled around him until it was the sweet, tingling smell of his mother's home cooking. In his mind, Fedia was back at home, leaning back against the pillows of their living room couch, his mother was cooking dinner and backing pies that would come afterwards, and his sister lay next to him, her head in his lap as she slipped through some fairytale or another.

It was a sweet fantasy, but one that didn't last long. The moment was evanescent, the picture tentative and fleeting. When Fedia opened his eyes he was back in the cold, dank, dim cargo hold. His mother was parsecs away and she rarely baked pies after his father died - there was no time, with her job and all. It wasn't Gale, ether, that lay snuggled up on his lap, but this boy - this Anatole. Yet, Fedia still found himself softly scratching the soft skin behind the child's ear. Anatole seemed to not mind at all._ Does he have a family somewhere out there?_ "Anatole?  
"Yea?"

"Do you...do you have a family?"

"Yea. Parents. Sister."

"Older or younger?"

"Older."

"I've got a sister too. She's about your age. Eight standard."

Anatole turned back onto his back so that he could look at Fedia with eyes that sparkled with a newly aroused interest. "I'm almost nine standard. How old are you?"

"I'll be fourteen standard in a few days."

"Will you get home in time for your Naming Day?"

"No." Fedia sighed but tried not to show his disappointment too much. He had been away from home for almost a year now - minus a couple of weeks - and he had really hoped to be able spend his Naming Day at home, but it hadn't worked out. Just one more thing he had to sacrifice in the name of money. "Do your parents know where you are?" Fedia asked cautiously after a pause.

Anatole shook his head and bit his lip. "They would come get me if they knew. These men just came one night and they..." Anatole broke off, chewing his lip. Tears glistened in his eyes and he shook his head again. "I don't know...don't know...it all happened so fast..."

_Force...his parents are probably going crazy. His sister too...I don't know what I'd do if Gale just disappeared!_ Fedia felt himself choke and forced himself to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

"What do they want from me?" Anatole looked up at him in genuine confusion and a plea for an explanation.

Fedia couldn't find the words to answer him.


End file.
